


night falls (and we're getting older too)

by originalPseudonym



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, also literally nothing happens in this fic but i am gay. so, not beta read we die like men, title from the mortal boy king by the paper kites. i command you to listen to it and cry.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 17:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21342283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originalPseudonym/pseuds/originalPseudonym
Summary: Adora has taken to carrying a single-edged dagger since the sword shattered. It’s stowed in a sheath clipped to her belt, and when Adora sits down next to her, the leather presses against Catra’s thigh. Catra feels the pressure, knows that Adora feels the pressure where the hilt presses against her own waist, and it’s almost like they’re touching.Catra tries not to dwell on the dull pain she feels in her chest when Adora unclips the sheath and places the dagger on the other side of her.Catra, Adora, and a moment on the roof. Post season 4.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 317





	night falls (and we're getting older too)

It’s an unusually cool night on Bright Moon, and the breeze has Catra curling in on herself. While her perch near the top of the castle is good for the solitude, it’s not so good for keeping the chill at bay. Still, Catra finds her mind blissfully empty for once, so she stays.

It’s not that she doesn’t have things to worry about. After all, she has to think of ways to undercut Horde Prime’s hold on the planet without him catching on; has to stall, has to convince him that, no, they don’t quite know how to reactivate the weapon but that, yes, it’s worth his patience. She’s been scheming, stalling, sabotaging, and Catra’s not used to this level of manipulation. She doesn’t have the skill for it; not like others, not like Shadow Weaver – and _Shadow Weaver_. Shadow Weaver is there. Catra avoids her, ignores her, still dreams about her–

The point is, Catra has plenty to worry about.

But she doesn’t think about any of it; she looks at the night sky. She doesn’t even think of Horde Prime’s eyes and the cost of the stars being here. She just admires them for what they are. 

She hears Adora coming, of course. Adora’s as strong as ever – Catra thinks that she must be back to her old training regimen, with the sword gone and She-Ra’s form gone with it – but she just doesn’t have the grace. Her movements are heavy where they should be light, and as she scales the side of the castle to join Catra on the flat stretch of rooftop, she’s loud and obvious to Catra’s feline ears.

And then Adora’s standing before her, scratching the back of her neck, almost looking _sheepish_.

Catra bites back a playfully cutting remark, because she doesn’t think they’re quite there yet. Instead, Catra pats the spot next to her in invitation. Adora gives her a small, careful smile. Catra feels like her chest might crack open at the sight. 

Adora has taken to carrying a single-edged dagger since the sword shattered. It’s stowed in a sheath clipped to her belt, and when Adora sits down next to her, the leather presses against Catra’s thigh. Catra feels the pressure, knows that Adora feels the pressure where the hilt presses against her own waist, and it’s almost like they’re touching.

Catra tries not to dwell on the dull pain she feels in her chest when Adora unclips the sheath and places the dagger on the other side of her.

Both their legs hang off the edge and Catra finds herself missing how easy it was, before, when they could touch without thinking. Their casual intimacy always sent a shock through Catra’s system, even back then – and especially toward the end – but it was still second nature. Now, she finds everything stilted, finds herself overthinking every touch, and Catra knows that the problem isn’t all her own. She’s seen enough of Adora’s hesitant, aborted motions to know that Adora has felt the shift too.

“So,” Adora starts, and Catra doesn’t stop her eyeroll, because Adora has always been painfully awkward.

“How’s Sparkles?” Catra asks, sincerely – not because they’re friends, exactly, but because they’re both in this together, and she knows that pretending to cozy up to Horde Prime is even harder on Glimmer than it is on herself.

Adora tilts her head at the question, but she doesn’t tease Catra for it. Another sign that things have changed: before, when they were both in the Horde (and maybe even after that, but before the portal, which wasn’t long ago, but may as well have been lifetimes), Adora would’ve punched her arm, would’ve put her in a headlock, would’ve said _I knew you liked her_, wrong and annoyingly earnest.

But Adora doesn’t do any of that. She says, “Glimmer’s okay. Things are hard, but she’ll – we’ll all get through this.”

Catra feels another breeze blow over her. She doesn’t have her headpiece on – she’s been wearing it less and less around the castle – and her bangs have grown enough to rest halfway down her forehead. They brush against her skin, and Catra scratches at where they softly tickle her. 

Adora starts to say something, but the sound cuts off in her throat. When Catra shoots her a questioning glance, Adora visibly steels herself and says, “Your bangs are getting long.”

Adora swallows and Catra mirrors it. Catra knows that they’re thinking about the same thing; thinking about how, back in the Horde, whenever they found their hair getting too long, they would hide away in some corner, laughing as they cut each other’s hair with the heavy-duty scissors they had stolen from a storage closet.

And then Catra’s gaze drifts to Adora’s hair, and then Catra is thinking of something else, remembering last week, when Catra had caught Adora with her hair down.

Catra didn’t want to barge into Adora’s room like that. But Adora said she wanted an update as soon as Horde Prime moved in on a village, and when Adora didn’t answer Catra’s knock on her bedroom door, Catra got worried.

Adora must’ve just showered. She was dressed, but just in her old Horde-issued tank top and shorts. Her skin was flushed red from the warm water, and Catra went warm herself at the sight.

Other than her skin, Catra had noticed her hair – Adora’s bangs were _long_, in two clumps that hung down well past her eyes. Catra remembers her fingers twitching at the sight.

Adora’s hair is in a ponytail now, her bangs pulled back to form that dumb poof on the top of her head.

“Yours are getting long too.”

“Do you want to cut them?”

Adora looks as shocked as Catra feels, and then she just looks embarrassed. She starts to say something else, but Catra doesn’t let her finish.

“Sure.”

Adora’s mouth hangs open for a moment, her blue eyes wide, before she reaches for the dagger at her side, removing it from its sheath. It’s a stupid idea – they should really find something properly suited for this – but Catra doesn’t say anything. She’s afraid that Adora might leave if she did.

Catra takes the offered blade. Adora reaches up and frees her hair from the tie, and Catra feels that twitch in her fingers again. She moves only to dispel the energy.

As soon as Catra’s fingers make contact with Adora’s forehead, Adora shivers. Catra pretends not to notice. Her heart beats wildly in her chest. She pretends not to notice that, either.

Catra gathers some hair between her fingers, starts to bring the blade up, then stops. Her hands are shaking so bad that she’s afraid she’ll accidentally hurt Adora.

Catra’s eyes are trained on the hair between her fingers, but when Adora’s voice cuts through the night, they dart down to meet Adora’s.

“It’s okay.”

Her eyes are so open and so – Catra can’t even believe it - _trusting_. But it has the opposite effect of what Adora was probably going for, and Catra’s hands shake even more.

A moment passes – one that Catra feels stretches on forever – and then Adora reaches up and steadies Catra’s shaking hands with a loose grip around each of her wrists.

Adora guides her hands, and Catra lets her, and they cut her hair together.

It’s a slow process, but Adora doesn’t let go, and eventually her bangs are a reasonable length once more. As Adora takes the dagger back, Catra admires their handywork, trying to figure out how to breathe again.

“Wow,” Catra observes, her voice a little unsteady, “they look like shit.”

Adora snorts. She starts to sheathe the dagger, but Catra stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Wanna do mine?”

Adora has that deer-in-the-headlights look that she has so often, but after a moment, she gives a slow nod.

Unlike Catra’s, Adora’s movements are mechanical and efficient. Before Catra even has time to process the touch lingering on her skin, Adora is finished, sheathing the blade and putting it back down at her side.

The wind has carried away most of the hair, but some still remains stuck to her clothes. Catra watches Adora eye the hair before she reaches out and stops halfway.

Adora meets Catra’s eyes, her arm outstretched. Catra’s voice is gone again – her mouth is dry and her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth – so she nods. Adora reaches out the rest of the way, using the back of her hand to carefully brush off the few bits of hair that have made it onto Catra’s shoulder. Catra brushes the hair off her own chest, because _there_ is something that hasn’t changed between them: Adora’s nearly chivalrous respect for Catra’s privacy, for her modesty, despite the fact that they’ve spent most of their lives sleeping in the same bed.

Catra doesn’t think she has it in her to do the same for Adora, and thankfully, Adora doesn’t ask, taking care of it herself.

Once the last of hairs have been taken by the wind, Adora takes a deep breath, clearly gearing up for something. Catra tenses. When Adora’s hand finds its way to the back of Catra’s neck, Catra’s own breath catches in her throat.

Catra isn’t sure what she thinks is going to happen, but she certainly isn’t expecting Adora to guide Catra’s head closer so that their foreheads rest together.

Adora’s eyes aren’t closed. She’s looking right at Catra, with that open and honest look that Catra really doesn’t know what to do with, and Catra realizes with a panic that she feels the sudden and ridiculous urge to _cry_. So Catra does the only thing she can – she screws her eyes shut and forces out the words on the tip of her tongue. 

“I missed you.”

And then Adora lets out a little huff of air that could be mistaken for a laugh, but it has a hitch to it. Catra knows that, if she opened her eyes, she would see tears in Adora’s own.

After another shaky breath, Adora says, “I missed you too, Catra.” And then, quieter, “I missed you so much.” 

Another breeze comes, but Catra barely registers it. She can feel Adora’s pulse from her temporal artery, and Catra listens to the quick, steady beat.

They fall into a long silence. Then, tentative and blind, Catra reaches up and threads her fingers through the hair at the base of Adora’s skull. Adora inhales as Catra exhales, and Catra feels the pressure against her forehead increase as Adora presses closer.

Catra aches, because things are different than how they were before. She knows that things will never be the same between them. But, despite everything, she finds herself able to hope that, eventually, they might be even better.

As Catra lets the feeling of Adora’s heartbeat wash over her, she knows that Adora is doing the same.

**Author's Note:**

> last night I thought “what if I wrote a fic where catra and adora stargazed and talked?” and tonight I sat down and wrote a fic where neither of those things took place 
> 
> also, adora was defo trying to grow out her bangs, but the rituals are indeed intricate 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! catch me on tumblr @coastward and on twitter @coastthru


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